


Love in the Nineties (title pending!)

by pizzahut



Category: 90s - Fandom, Blur, Real Person Fiction, Spice Girls
Genre: 90s, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzahut/pseuds/pizzahut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU inspired by a web page I found (see chapter notes) and the fact that, had Damon Albarn and Mel C dated, they may well have been the ultimate 90s powercouple (i.e. I'm a 90s-obsessed piece of trash). Damon Albarn is a hapless 23-year-old, sailing in and out of employment, looking for a better life and hopelessly devoted to Melanie. Melanie is a not-so hapless 21-year-old living in the flat below Damon's, with her own big dreams and ambitions and no time to be fancying stupid blokes like the one living upstairs. Silly romcom-style hijinks ensue. This is in no way a serious piece of work!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in the Nineties (title pending!)

**Author's Note:**

> page link is here>>> http://www.tornado.pair.com/melaniec/x-iz/romance.html#damon  
> so yeah I guess this is like an introductory chapter cos idk if i'll continue to update this on here or not...I ignored the actual age gap between the two of them and really this is in no way a serious fanfic nor something I actually ship. however I was having a lot of fun writing it and decided to just post it for the lols. don't mind me posting at fucking 3am lmao

 A loud knocking on the door somewhat made Melanie jump, but the sound was so ingrained into her routine now her physical reaction was negligible. She looked up nonchalantly from where she was sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, mid-mascara application, and wasn’t surprised in the slightest when half a second later, without waiting to be told he could enter, the bloke from upstairs flounced into the room and threw himself down on to her bed with a sigh and a groan, putting his arm over his eyes.

Melanie resumed putting on her mascara. “Oh, Damon. Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” she said dryly, just like she did every time he swanned in. Her friends had warned her about this, told her to be careful that this didn’t become a habit or she’d never get rid...but that plan hadn’t really worked out. Damon didn’t respond, just lay there as if this was his room, and he’d just got in from a long day at the office. So he was fishing for attention then. Again. “For God’s sake, what have you done now?”

This prompted a proper response. Damon uncovered his eyes and looked at her in the mirror with a slight frown, blonde fringe mussed up from when he’d moved his arm. “Well, that’s not very hospitable!”

Melanie laughed a little with disbelief and turned around to look at him properly, instead of his reflection. “Why should I be hospitable when you just let yourself in and out of my flat like you own the place?”

Damon slowly sat up and shrugged. “It’s not my fault you never fixed the front door.” He paused, then seemed to do a mental double take. “You going out tonight?” he asked, nodding towards the makeup paraphernalia that was lying around where Melanie was sitting. She stood up, having finished doing her eyes, and checked her hair in the mirror. 

“Yeah. Going out with the girls,” she said. She was looking forward to tonight; the past few days at the dance school she worked at had been utter torture - the troupe were getting ready to do a big show so tensions were running high - and she’d been really struggling, recently, with the persistent worry that she’d be stuck doing jobs like that forever if she didn’t get out there and start trying to make a name for herself soon. She did enjoy her job, but it was difficult, feeling like she was always filling time, or indeed wasting it. She broke herself out of her internal monologue to see Damon nodding in that strange owlish way of his. She turned back to him again and went over to sit next to him on the bed, which prompted him to wriggle over. “So. What’s up?”

Damon smiled a little to himself, looking vaguely guilty, and rolled his eyes, letting out a sardonic chuckle. “Lost me job.” 

Melanie felt her face morphing into a pained expression and her shoulders drooped. “Oh, Damon…!” she groaned, unable to stop herself from feeling mildly annoyed with him, but tried to gather herself and show some sympathy. “What happened?” She didn’t put her hand out to comfort him.

Damon’s face was set now, his eyebrows one straight line at the top of his head as he fixed her with a somewhat indignant stare. “Well, you know how it is there,” he said pleadingly, “I’m always being yelled at for no good reason-”

“-Wait, wait, so you quit? You weren’t fired, you dropped out?”

“No, I didn’t quit!” Damon looked very aggravated and Melanie had to force herself to stay quiet. Why she put up with him, she didn’t know. “No, I turned up late."

Melanie paused to frown at him. "And that was it?"

"Oh, God, Mel!" Damon moaned, casting his eyes skywards and lying himself back down with a muffled thud. Typical drama student, really. "Can you stop being so-can't you just trust me, please? I wouldn't lie, would I?" 

"I didn't say you were lying. I just don't think that you've told the whole story," Mel replied, getting to her feet and starting to get her bag together. She wasn't meeting the others for a while yet, and had wanted to leave some time just to chill out before she left, but Damon was starting to grate on her nerves. "You know, I feel like your mother sometimes!" 

Damon snorted, unaware that Mel was trying to make a move. Or, make him move. 

"Alright, come on, you big divvy," she said, and gave him a light shove. "You need to get out of me flat. I need to get going."

Damon, initially surprised at the contact, eased himself off of the bed with a playful show of reluctance, and started to pad towards the door. Mel grabbed her bag and followed him out, internally willing him to go faster. As they reached the front door, Damon turned to face her, shooting her a lazy smile.

"Y'know, since your lock's broken, I could always just stay here," he said, "you know - hold up the fort while you're out."

"What, and leave you to go snooping around and poking at my stuff? I don't think so, boyo." Mel laughed and pushed at his shoulder, prompting him to turn around, not least because she couldn’t look at him when he was fixing her with those looks. Ugh. He drove her mad. She was going to go absolutely mad soon, if this carried on for much longer.

Damon let himself be pushed out of the door, deliberately digging his heels into the floor as he scoffed back, "God, what do you take me for? Some sort of pervert?"

Melanie smiled at his back. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Damon cackled in response, standing up properly and turning back round to face her once he was out into the hall.

"So, um. The other thing that might have...possibly contributed...to me losing my job..." he started suddenly, flicking his gaze to his shoes and looking sheepish. Mel put one hand in her hip and tilted her head to one side expectantly.

"Go on."

"Might have started a bit of a food fight in the back."

Melanie didn't know what to say to that, responses ranging from laughter to anger vying for selection in her head. She pushed all the outrageous ones away and settled on asking, "How old are you again?" Still, she felt that familiar fondness coming up, and soon enough she was smiling at Damon and his utter stupidity. 

"I'm twenty-three, ma'm," Damon replied, deepening his voice and stiffening up into an army-like pose.

"Yeah, well, bloody act like it, for Christ's sake," Mel half-joked, half-urged, and Damon looked sheepish again. "If that weirdo flatmate of yours can hold down a job then so can you."

Damon tossed his head back and slumped his shoulders, tutting and sighing before straightening back up and smiling, almost apologetically. "Yeah, okay...I'll let you get on, yeah?" He paused and smirked. "Leave you to ah, pretend to lock the door," he murmured, tapping on the offending slab of wood with his knuckles.

Melanie rolled her eyes. "I told you, the landlord's getting someone in to fix it soon."

"Come on, you've been saying that for ages," Damon replied, leaning up against the wall as Mel stuck her key in the lock in a show of locking up. "If I was any good at DIY I'd try to do it for you."

"Yeah well, knowing you, you'd only make it worse," Mel responded, only half listening while she finished her little routine. She looked up at Damon, and there was a short pause where neither of them seemed to want to speak, a sensation slowly building up in Mel's brain and body that she hadn't really felt since she was 16 (but that had been revisiting her twofold whenever Damon came up to be a nuisance). She shook herself out of it and smiled, feeling a little breathless.

"Alright, go on, shoo, you," she said, waving him off.

***

Damon had taken the short flight upstairs to his own flat with a little reluctance. There was no use in denying that he felt a bit disappointed that Melanie had had to jet off so quickly; he’d wanted to stay and have a chat with her, not least because she was good at making him feel like his regular fuck-ups were merely things to be laughed at and not impossible to solve. He enjoyed sitting around chatting with Melanie. And it was no big secret that he’d rather enjoy sitting around doing other things with Melanie, too, if she gave him the chance. His mates would always joke about it and he’d have to brush them off, but the entire situation reminded him of when he’d first fancied a girl at school. Though this time round, he was a tad less daft and naive than he had been when he was 12. He hoped.

Alex, who he’d ended up flatsharing with, was possibly the least helpful of all of his friends.

“Oh, you’re back,” he said when Damon got in and threw himself down on to the grubby armchair by the television, curling himself up into a ball. Alex came in from behind the kitchen counter with a mug in his hands and sat opposite him on the sofa, long legs stretching out in front of him as he flopped down in his usual languid way. “Get your feet off the furniture.”

Damon followed Alex’s command. “Sorry.”

Alex made a show of checking his watch as he settled back in the setee. “I’m surprised you’re in this early. Usually you’re downstairs bothering poor Mel for a lot longer than this,” he commented. Damon felt unaffected by the jibe, though he wasn’t sure why.

“She was going out.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Alex continued to mock, and this time Damon did feel slightly irritated, responding by narrowing his eyes in his flatmate’s direction as he added, “are you really sad? Do you miss her lots?”

“Leave it out, Alex,” Damon replied, and Alex shot him a grin before he realised that Damon really wasn’t in the mood.

“Here. Is something up?”

Damon didn’t want to make eye-contact. He felt his head start to hurt with dread as he built himself up to telling Alex his bad news, not really because he thought Alex would be angry, or because he thought Alex would even particularly care, but because he would soon get tired of him the longer he went without employment and because it was embarrassing that he had such a poor grip on his life. It wasn’t that he didn’t try, for God’s sake; he could get jobs if he wanted, he’d proved that much multiple times, and he was good at paying his half of the rent on time. The fact was that he was simply something of an idiot who let his contrary nature get the better of him, and that his subconscious desires often stopped him from settling into too much of a routine. How he even had friends was a mystery to him sometimes.

“You’re not going to think very highly of me, Alex,” Damon started, and Alex quirked an eyebrow.

“Right. So nothing new, then,” he quipped, and Damon felt a mixture of relief and anxiety wash over him all at once at Alex’s lighthearted dig.

“I got fired,” Damon admitted, wrinkling his nose. He watched Alex sigh and smile tiredly.

“What did you do this time?”

“You know, that’s exactly what Mel said,” Damon found himself responding, sounding slightly more cheery than he felt and eager to move the conversation elsewhere. If losing his job at the bakery was one thing, the reasons as to why he did were certainly another. _Oh, you know, the usual stuff - tardiness, inability to follow instructions properly, covering the kitchen in whipped cream and unbaked pastries behind the boss’s back._ “I don’t know why everyone takes up that tone with me, you know. I’m not a complete liability.”

Alex laughed. “Of course you told her first. Not me, the person who actually relies on your income to help keep a roof over both our heads.” 

Damon felt his lips twitching into a sheepish smile and he ducked his head briefly to hide it. “Well, she lives on the way to ours, doesn’t she.”

“Hardly! You have to exit the stairs early and go right down to the end of the corridor!” Alex said gleefully, laughing more, and this time Damon did let him see him smile. “You are so fucking desperate it’s embarrassing.”

“I’m not desperate,” Damon argued, feeling a little insulted as well as amused.

“Mhm,” Alex said, nodding, “sure. You just like going to hers because her flat’s in better keep than ours, I get it.”

“Didn’t you know I had a thing for interior design?” Damon quipped as Alex took a sip from his mug.

“You know what you need, don’t you?” Alex said, looking rather self-assured, and Damon knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

“Alex, this is your answer to-”

“-A good shag.”

“What would a good shag solve?” Damon groaned, slumping down in his chair and rolling his eyes. Alex seemed to only be able to offer three different solutions to whatever problems came his way: a fag, a party, or a shag, or indeed, all three at once, and Damon had learnt the hard way to not take Alex’s advice. Or at least, he’d learnt to not take Alex’s advice all the time. “I’m hardly going to hump my way to employment, am I?”

“Depends on what line of work you want to go into.”

“Oh, Alex!”

It was Alex’s turn to roll his eyes. “Anyway, I wasn’t thinking about your job. I’ve no doubt in my mind that some poor fool out there will decide to take you on soon enough.”

Damon frowned and tutted. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean, just generally, you know?” Alex leaned forward. “You’ve been acting very funny lately. All tense and emotional. Getting off with someone would probably help to calm you down and maybe take your mind off her majesty downstairs. I’m worried you’re maybe a bit too into her.”

Damon tried his best to keep his face set, unwilling to admit that maybe Alex had a point. “Hmm. I dunno.”

“Oh, come on! When’s the last time you went out on the pull?” Alex said insistently, becoming visibly excited. “We can go out tonight! I think it’d do you the world of good to just get out there, even just for one night!" 

“I have been out!” Damon retorted, sitting up straighter. “Anyway, I’m no good at all that business, and every time you take me out I just end up getting pissed.”

“I fail to see how that’s a problem.” When Damon shot him a withering look he persisted. “Come on. Girls and boys alike’ll love your oversized trousers and your verbal diarrhoea.”

“Wow, Alex, you know exactly how to make a bloke feel good about himself,” Damon said, voice practically vibrating with sarcasm. “And anyway, my trousers fit me fine. Just cos you like parading around wiggling your arse in the tightest jeans possible...” 

Alex tilted his head to one side. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just ignore the fact that I must have seen literally every pair of pants you own by now without you even taking your clothes off.”

“I’ve got slim hips!”

“Get a belt!”

“I’m wearing a belt!”

Alex heaved a sigh and settled back down. “Look, whatever. Just please come out tonight. I was going to invite you anyway. It’s been ages since we went out together.”

Damon pulled a sickly-sweet smile and leaned over to pat Alex’s leg. “Aw, Alex, do you miss me when I’m not around?” Alex scoffed and pushed him away, and he sat back and thought about it some more. It didn’t take him long to finally make up his mind. “Alright, fine, I’ll come out. May as well. We can celebrate the fact that I don’t have to come home covered in flour anymore.”

“Yes!” Alex said, giving a lazy fist pump and sounding both triumphant and relieved. “Trust me, we’ll have a great time.”

Damon grimaced in Alex’s direction. “Alright. Don’t make me think about it too much. I can practically feel the hangover already.”

Alex grinned and rose to his feet, patting his pockets for cigarettes. He nodded at the door, a silent enquiry as to whether Damon was joining him. Damon shook his head and wriggled in his chair, so Alex continued, locating his jacket on the back of the armchair and sliding it on. “Anyway,” he carried on, “Graham’s coming. So if all else fails you can get off with him.”

Damon groaned loudly. “That was one-that wasn’t even a thing-”

“Whatever you say, Damon!” Alex’s crow echoed out into the hall as he left the flat and shut the door behind him, and Damon sank down low in his seat, rubbing his hands over his face and trying to process the conversation, and indeed the day he’d just had. Things would be fine. He’d get another job like he always did, maybe even a really good one this time. Things with Mel...well, that remained to be seen, but he’d make sure she didn’t think he was a complete fool if nothing else. And going out with Alex? Yep, that’d be absolutely fine, too. As long as he didn’t let Alex cajole him into any drinking competitions he might even get through the night relatively unscathed. Forcing himself to get up and start making himself look a little more presentable - was that the time already? They’d have to leave soon if they wanted to get the most out of the night - he pushed the last dregs of negativity out of the front of his mind and promised himself that he’d deal with it all later.

 

 


End file.
